


According to Norway, this never happened

by VKatja



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Kid Norway is criminally underused, Middle Ages, Whale Brothers, they're babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24909553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VKatja/pseuds/VKatja
Summary: "When Norwegian kings wished to have sagas written about them, they often continued to employ Icelanders, who were already coming to be seen as a particularly literary nation." - Prose Edda, Anthony Faulkes' editionOr how reading historical books when tired can lead to Hetalia.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	According to Norway, this never happened

Iceland didn’t usually have any problem with visiting his older brother. Norway was a little odd, but he was nice and always made sure that Iceland was well-fed and comfortable. Still, ever since he had gotten the letter asking him to come to Norway’s capital city, he had a bad feeling that he couldn’t shake off.

The letter was signed by Norway, but as usually, it was written by one of Iceland’s people. It said that Norway needed his help urgently, but Norway never asked for help, especially not from Iceland.

He walked through the castle, cursing its useless size and trying to ignore the curious glances Norway’s people threw him. Maybe he should have left Mr Puffin at home, or maybe he should have taken the time to change his clothes. Peasants weren’t exactly welcome in castles, from what Denmark had told him. But no one stopped him when he approached Norway’s quarters. Maybe they had recognized him ; Mathias often said that Iceland looked a lot like Norway, after all.

Finally finding the right door, Iceland cursed for the twenty-sixth time that day his childish body. The doorknob was high enough to be comfortable for an adult body, not for the equivalent of a five years old human. He knocked loudly and the door slammed open. Mr Puffin pushed him out of the way right before the door sweeped the place where he had been standing before.

“Thanks,” Iceland grumbled.

“You’re welcome,” Norway declared loudly. “There you are, little brother.”

He grabbed Iceland’s arm and dragged him inside, shutting the door with more strength than necessary.

“Mr Norway, please, stop moving,” a human man said. He was a painter, half-hidden behind his canvas.

“What’s going on?” Iceland asked. He truly hoped that it wasn’t yet another family portrait. At least Denmark wasn’t there this time.

“You didn’t notice?” Norway said, running back to the small set that had been installed in front of the painter. Norway took the sword and pointed to the window.

“I can’t see anything,” Iceland replied, squinting to try to find a detail he could have missed.

“Not on the window,” Norway huffed. “Look at me.”

Sighing, Iceland looked more carefully at his older brother. Norway was standing proudly on a pile of rocks, in a victorious stance. He flicked his hair dramatically.

“So?” he insisted. “I look great, right?”

“Did you get a haircut?” Iceland attempted.

Norway’s arms slumped to his side with disappointment.

“Are you saying that to annoy me?” he complained. “I grew up!”

“Oooooh.”

_ Now _ he could somewhat see it. Instead of looking twelve as he had been for the last few decades, Norway now looked twelve and a half.

“Good for you. Is that why you made me come all the way from my place?”

“We’re brothers, right?”

It wasn’t actually a question.

“I guess so,” Iceland still replied, to humor him. “Yeah.”

“Brothers help each other, right?”

“Yeah?”

“So you want to help me, don’t you?”

“Depends.”

Norway nodded, looking satisfied.

“I know for a fact that Denmark hasn’t hit a growth spurt yet; so for now, I’m older than he is. Do you understand what that means?”

Iceland wouldn’t call it a  _ spurt _ . Norway had taken about a thumb, nothing very noticeable.

“That means that you’re currently the eldest?” Iceland tried, hoping that this torture would end soon and that Norway would give him a satisfying reason to have forced him to bother with the long trip.

“Exactly! We’re going to send this painting to Denmark as soon as it’s finished.”

“Which won’t be any time soon if you keep moving so much, Sire,” the painter said with almost as much annoyance as Iceland felt.

“Ah, my bad.”

Norway froze in his victorious pose from earlier.

“And what does that have to do with me?” Iceland asked, crossing his arms.

“You’re good at writing, aren’t you?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“And brothers help each other.”

Iceland’s eye twitched. He didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“I want you to write a cool saga about me that we’ll send to Den with the portrait. It’ll make him so jealous.”

Norway snickered, apparently very proud of his plan.

“A  _ cool saga _ ?” Iceland repeated with a frown. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’ve seen the things that your people write, it’s very good. Just write one about me. Make something up, but make it so cool that it’ll make Den and Swe want to worship me, alright?”

Iceland clenched his teeth and gripped the fabric of his sleeves in his sadly-too-small-for-punching fists, struggling to hold back from lashing out at Norway.

“So,” he started very slowly, weighting each word. “You made me come all the way down here just so I could write a saga about a thing you haven’t done, just so you can make Den and Swe jealous.”

“Exactly, I’m glad to see that we think alike, little brother.”

“Okay,” Iceland snapped, throwing his hands up in anger and scaring Mr Puffin. “That’s it! I’m done! We are not brothers anymore.”

The doorknob was still too high for him. He climbed out through the window and left without any care left for his brother’s offended gasp.


End file.
